Page 110 of Guys Can't Write Romance
“No,” Daisy corrected, “You announced you were taking it. We never discussed it.”
A passing waiter offered a tray of champagne. Ethan took two glasses, handing one to Daisy as if the gesture might defuse the tension.
“Let’s not do this here,” he said quietly. “Tonight is important for my career. Peterson is watching how I handle myself.”
Daisy took a long sip of champagne, letting the bubbles burn down her throat. As she lowered the glass, she caught sight of a floral arrangement on a nearby table — roses, elegantly arranged in a crystal vase. Nothing like the bright, cheerful daisies that had greeted her that morning.
Daisies. Her favorite. Which Ethan had sent her when they first met the week her father died. And never since.
A suspicion that had been forming all evening suddenly crystallized into certainty.
“Thank you again for the flowers,” she said, her voice deliberately casual. “It meant a lot that you remembered how much I love roses, especially today.”
Ethan’s expression flickered from confusion at first, to what he assumed was a smooth recovery. “Of course,” he replied. “I know they’re special to you.”
The last piece clicked into place. He hadn’t sent them. He didn’t even know what kind of flowers they were.
“They weren’t roses, Ethan,” Daisy said quietly. “They were daisies. My favorite. Which you’d know if you’d sent them.”
Ethan’s composure slipped for a moment. “I... of course they were daisies. That’s what I meant.”
“No, it isn’t.” Daisy set her champagne glass down on a nearby table with deliberate care. “You didn’t send those flowers. You didn’t remember what today is. You probably don’t even know what today is.”
Ethan glanced around, clearly concerned about creating a scene. “Daisy, this isn’t the place.”
“It’s the anniversary of my father’s death,” she said, her voice steady despite the emotion tightening her throat. “Three years ago today. I’ve mentioned it multiple times.”
Comprehension finally dawned in Ethan’s eyes. “Right, of course. I’m sorry, work has been so hectic with the merger—“
“Stop,” Daisy interrupted. “Just... stop. This isn’t about forgetting a date, Ethan. It’s about you not seeing me; not really. Not as a person with dreams and ambitions and a life I’ve built that matters to me.”
“That’s not fair,” Ethan protested, keeping his voice low. “I’m trying to build a future for us.”
“No, you’re building a future for yourself and expecting me to fit into it,” Daisy corrected. “You didn’t ask if I wanted to move to New York. You didn’t ask if I wanted to give up teaching or writing. You just assumed I’d follow along because your career is obviously more important than anything I might want.”
Ethan’s expression hardened. “Is this about some silly writing contest? Daisy, be realistic. The chances of making a living as a romance novelist—“
“This is about respect,” Daisy cut in. “And about whether the person I’m with believes in me enough to support my dreams, even if they seem impractical to him.”
They stood in tense silence for a moment, the elegant party continuing around them, oblivious to the relationship fracturing in their midst.
“We’re just having a miscommunication,” Ethan finally said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s get through tonight, and we can talk properly tomorrow when we’re both calmer.”
Daisy stepped back, out of reach. “No, Ethan. We’re not having a miscommunication. We’re having a fundamental disagreement about what partnership means. And I don’t think it’s something we can work through.”
“You’re upset about your father,” Ethan said, his tone patronizingly gentle. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
Something in Daisy snapped. “Actually, I’m thinking more clearly than I have in months. We’re done, Ethan. For real this time.”
She turned to leave, then paused and looked back at him. “For what it’s worth, I hope New York is everything you want it to be. I really do.”
Before he could respond, Daisy moved swiftly through the crowd, avoiding eye contact with the curious onlookers who had undoubtedly noticed their tense conversation. She retrieved her clutch from the coatroom and stepped outside into the cool night air.
The valet looked surprised to see her leaving alone. “Would you like me to call you a car, miss?”
“Yes, please,” Daisy said, feeling suddenly exhausted. “A taxi or an Uber, whichever’s faster.”
While waiting, she pulled out her phone. Without hesitation, she opened a new text to Chad:
